


winter flowers

by nekrateholic



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Hopeful Ending, I think?, M/M, Post-Break Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-27 21:58:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17170166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nekrateholic/pseuds/nekrateholic
Summary: I don’t think I can do this anymore.The words still ring in Zitao’s brain like warning sirens, even though the disaster has already happened.or: winter isn't all there is to blame for Tao's cold apartment.





	winter flowers

**Author's Note:**

> based on [NELL - Four Times Around The Sun](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g5cVE-i5wHI)

_ I don’t think I can do this anymore. _

The words still ring in Zitao’s brain like warning sirens, even though the disaster has already happened.

That was two weeks ago.

Zitao doesn’t remember a lot of those two weeks. He threw himself into his work like he never had before - which says a lot. Ironic, considering the amount of time he spent on work was what got him into this mess in the first place.  _ This mess _ being his whole life at the moment.

He’d always thought his relationship with Baekhyun was set in stone, always laughed at his older coworkers who spent a lot more time on business trips than they really needed. Once or twice he’d even have to ward off the odd concerned wife -  _ it’s okay, he really is on a business trip right now. Yes, Japan, we have new investors he had to go meet  _ \- absently hoping the ugly rattling from the new secretary’s office isn’t loud enough for the speaker to pick up.

But Zitao was okay, because he and Baekhyun were better than this. They’d been together for so long, Baekhyun had been his whole world for so long Zitao couldn’t even imagine a world where Baekhyun wouldn’t be enough.

Except - between one report and the next, between one promotion and the next - Zitao had forgotten that knowing someone is there is very different than being there with them. That maybe there will be a time when just  _ knowing  _ Baekhyun is there won’t be enough.

*

The lights flicker on in Zitao’s small, cramped office. He looks up to meet Luhan’s concerned eyes and… goes back to work. He’s not entirely sure he knows how to do anything else at this point.

The thing is, he’s not too fond of the dark. It being well past midnight in the eerily empty building, with the lights off - it makes for quite the horror movie setup. Then again, the uneasiness, looking over his shoulder every few minutes, it serves as an additional distraction. Zitao needs as many of those as he can get.

Luhan is aware of all those things.

Somewhere along the road he’d become more of a friend than his direct boss and Zitao is glad for it. Luhan has been the voice of reason more times than he can remember.

And yet even he couldn’t predict the disaster Zitao turned his life into.

“When was the last time you went home?” Luhan asks, running his fingers through Zitao’s fringe. He’s leaning on his desk and it makes it a little harder to keep typing, which is most probably the point, but Zitao keeps going.

“Last night,” he answers, off hand.

Luhan sighs. “Let me rephrase. When was the last time you went home for more than a change of clothes?”

Zitao’s fingers halt on the keyboard. He thinks about all the happy smiles Baekhyun used to greet him with. And then the jarring silence that welcomes him each time he goes home now. “I take showers, too.” He says in the end. It was meant to be a joke, to lighten up the mood, ideally to make Luhan leave him alone - but it comes out flat.

"Of course you do," Luhan says quietly, fingers resting on Zitao's shoulder now. "You shouldn't come to work for the next week."

Zitao's head whips up. "I don't want a vac-"

"I know you don't," Luhan interrupts, not unkindly. "But I'm also your friend and it's my job to see an unhealthy coping mechanism when I see one. You have stuff to work through and doing your paperwork for the next three days won't help you do that."

Zitao finally lets go of the keyboard. His fingertips feel somewhat raw - is it possible to get callouses from typing?

"I'm not sure I know how else to cope," he admits quietly.

Luhan's fingers return to his hair. The motion is soothing, always has been. Baekhyun loved doing this too, on the days Zitao came home dead tired. If he closes his eyes hard enough maybe he can-

But Luhan's fingers feel different, even with his eyes closed. "I know," Luhan says, and his voice is... somewhat hopeful, actually. "But I also know you, and I know you'll find a way. A healthier way."

"You've always had too much faith in me," Zitao laughs. It's a watery laugh, not exactly happy. Still, it's better than what he's done for the past few weeks.

"Lies," Luhan smiles, and Zitao wants to believe him, so much. "I have just enough."

*

By the time Zitao gets home it's far enough into the night to be considered early morning. He doesn’t bother shrugging his coat off - the chill is there, even with it, his breaths forming tiny, near-transparent puffs of smoke at each exhale. It’s probably not a great idea to keep the heating off mid-November, when the weather is at that fragile edge between fall and winter. Luhan would certainly think so. But Zitao can’t bring himself to take the two steps to left, to fiddle with the thermostat. It’s not worth it, when he barely spends any time home these days. And when he is, he enjoys the cold. If he’s cold, it means there’s still something warm somewhere inside him, something  _ alive. _

The dark apartment welcomes Zitao, as it has for some time now, and he's almost used to the lack of noise by now.

It was never exactly noisy before but there were  _ things  _ \- the hallway light flicked on so Zitao won't stumble inside, the whirring of the fridge. Baekhyun's soft breathing in their bedroom.

Zitao had turned the fridge off about a week ago - the eggs Baekhyun bought last had rotted away a few days before that. By the time Zitao gathered the courage to turn the fridge off and clean it out, well. He never found it in himself to turn it back on. It's not like he was home often enough to use it anyway.

And the sound of Baekhyun's breathing...

It's fair to say the bedroom itself became somewhat of an unreachable fortress in Zitao's mind. He only dares to breach the entrance for a change of clothes, in the day. And still again, most of his clothes are currently stacked in neat little piles all over the living room.

Because even in the daylight, the sight of the empty bed stabs at Zitao's soul like a million shards of glass - each one deeper than the last. Denial makes him feel a little numb, he's found out. But at least it doesn't hurt.

As it is, he runs a finger along the light switch in the hallway. He just stays there, caressing the cold plastic for a few minutes, before he finally lets his hand drop, the lights still off. In the first few days, immediately after the  _ I don't think I can do this anymore,  _ the light in the hallway had stayed on day in and day out, even though Zitao was barely home.

Then he figured Mother Nature doesn't need to suffer just because he's a shitty human being.

The light remains off as Zitao walks through the hallway. He almost wishes he’d bump into something, stub his toe or something equally mundane - just to feel it.

But, well. Turns out he never needed the light on anyway.

As he curls up on the couch, the TV muted on the shopping channel, he wonders if this is some kind of a sign. That maybe he needs to follow Luhan’s advice and… move on?

The thought feels like ice spikes through his guts. In the end, maybe he should leave the moving on part for a time when he’s able to spend more than ten minutes in the bedroom without the need to barf his heart out like an actor in one of those shitty, low budget slashers.

Maybe it’s the fake smiles of the lady who most likely hates showing off this new blender more than Zitao hates himself, maybe it’s the crippling fear that never ceases to creep up on him in the quietness of the apartment. Maybe it’s the fact that his average sleeping time has been approximately thirty minutes lately.

Whatever the reason is, Zitao finds his eyes slipping shut and for once, the monsters have the decency to at least wait until he’s asleep to rear their ugly, mirror heads.

*

“You’re kind of a coward, you know?” A voice says and Zitao opens his eyes to see… nothing. It’s darkness like he’s never seen before, not even when all the lights are off in an apartment emptier than his heart.

It’s nothing.

The person speaking has his back towards him. It’s a man, Zitao thinks. His voice is scratchy, a little high. It sounds oddly familiar, except Zitao’s sure he’s never heard it before. He sounds like he’s quite a bit older, too.

“What do you even know about me,” Zitao huffs. And then remembers - this is a dream, he’s pretty sure. Dream people’s judgement doesn’t matter. “I probably am,” he admits.

The dream person’s shoulders shake. He’s probably laughing - Zitao would too, in his place. Except there’s no sound and like this, cold dread slips into his veins instead.

“I’m glad we agree on that,” the stranger says. In his voice, there’s a trace of the laughter Zitao never heard and - it makes things better, somehow.

“What’s with the mask?” Zitao asks, only half teasing. Frankly, it’s kind of creepy.

“It’s necessary.” The man replies. “There will be consequences,” the man continues, “if you know who I am. There are probably consequences already.”

Zitao laughs because it all sounds so mysterious. Like all those movies he and Baekhyun squinted through each time someone forced them to attend a horror movie night.

The sound dies rather quickly because the man doesn’t laugh along. Doesn’t move, really. It’s hard to tell his expression what with the mask and all but Zitao has a suspicion even without it, his face wouldn’t change. “You’re serious,” he ends up saying.

The man shrugs. “I am. But it’s okay if you don’t believe me. I wouldn’t either.”  _ This  _ makes him laugh, for some reason. It sends chills down Zitao’s spine. “You can call me… Ming. I have a feeling you’d like that.”

Zitao does. He doesn’t reply out loud - although, by the casual confidence in Ming’s whole presence, he doesn’t really have to.

“So, my dear Zitao,” Ming says, offering a hand. He swipes a hand in the air behind him and suddenly, there’s a vortex of swirling right there. You’d think it would look more like a door - Zitao has seen enough movies to recognize this as the portal it probably is. Instead, the vortex looks more like a splatter. Like maybe someone spilled a can of light on the wall. In the air.

He takes Ming’s hand and follows him through the splatter of light because that’s what you do when you’re dreaming.

It doesn’t even occur to him that he never really told Ming  _ his  _ name.

*

It’s quite a vivid dream, Zitao realizes very soon. The vortex leads them out into a downpour, the concrete street cold even through Zitao’s - shoes? Wasn’t he in pyjamas just a minute ago?

“Would it make you feel better if you were still in your pyjamas? And wet to the bone?” Ming mutters with a laugh. 

Zitao whips up to stare at him. “Can you read my mind?”

Ming raises an eyebrow. “I can’t,” he replies easily. “I just know how you think.”

The conversation ends there, apparently, because Ming just turns away and starts walking. Zitao doesn’t really have a choice but to follow.

*

They hide under the cover of a small café with huge windows, tucked at the end of the street. There are quite a few people inside because of the rain, but a couple still manages to catch Zitao’s eye. They’re sat on the side, just barely visible at the end of the window. Zitao’s first instinct is to avoid them, like he’s been avoiding every happy couple he sees for the past few weeks except… Except there’s something familiar in one of them. Something burns and twists in Zitao’s gut because he knows those eyes.

He’s kissed those eyes awake.

But the person sitting opposite Baekhyun has his back towards Zitao and he can’t recognize him except he’s not Zitao and that hurts more than each and every rotten egg he’d had to throw away.

“Is this some kind of a joke?” he asks. He can’t see Ming’s face because of the mask but he has a feeling he’s smiling under it.

Ming sighs, then turns to him. “I know it may come as a surprise but not everything in this world revolves around you, you know? Look.”

Zitao doesn’t want to but the sight of Baekhyun after so long is too addicting. When he turns back to them, Baekhyun’s companion is halfway turned. It’s not a lot. Still, it’s enough for Zitao to recognize the face.

And how could he not? He sees it staring at him, mocking in its blankness every day in his mirror.

“That’s me,” he says helplessly.

“Observant,” Ming mutters. “It is you. Maybe it’s what you could’ve been, if things had gone differently. Even before your… thing. They seem pretty young, don’t you think?”

They do, Zitao realizes with a start. Age has always been kind to Baekhyun but it’s not hard to notice the softness to his cheeks. He’d lost it somewhere through college, caught between all-nighters and part-time jobs. Zitao misses it sometimes.

“Is this like that one movie… The Ghost of Christmas? You’ll show me all the ways I’ve fucked up? It’s not even Christmas.”

Ming’s shoulders shake like he’s laughing again. And again, no sound comes out. “You’re here with me, aren’t you? And he’s there,” he points towards the other Zitao. The one smiling at Baekhyun like he holds the key to his world. He probably does.  “That’s his world,” Ming says. Zitao startles at the softness in his voice. “He’s happy. Just like you were, before your... things happened.”

“My things,” Zitao repeats. “You mean when I fucked up.”

“You did,” Ming shrugs, still staring in the direction of the other Zitao. Of Baekhyun. He turns back to Zitao and there’s that feeling again. That he’s smiling behind the mask. “But nothing is irreparable. You love him too much. He loves you too much.”

Every ugly monster shaped like Zitao’s guilt roars inside him, setting his insides on fire. “You don’t know anything.”

There’s a touch to his shoulder, so fleeting Zitao thinks he might have imagined it. Ming catches his gaze and holds it. “I do,” he says, eyes never leaving Zitao’s. “Everything.”

*

They leave the other Zitao and his Baekhyun in the café, undisturbed. It’s not like they can interrupt their date, what with Zitao being… himself. He doesn’t want to, either. This Zitao seems happy.

Ming leads him to a dark, dead-end street a few blocks from the café. There’s another splatter of light on the wall there except this one looks more like… a gingerbread cookie? Ming’s eyes are soft behind the mask and he runs a finger along the edges of the portal.

“I think you’re going to like this one,” he says, a smile audible in his voice.

And then he jumps into the vortex, pulling Zitao right with him.

*

It’s cold.

The first thing Zitao feels when they step on solid ground again is freezing, paralyzing cold.

“Stop dramatizing,” Ming snorts, throwing a jacket at him.

Zitao catches it mid-air, hurries to wrap himself in it. “I never said anything.”

Ming shrugs. “I can hear you thinking.”

Zitao stops in his tracks, sleeve half hanging off his arm. “I thought you said you can’t read my mind.”

“I can’t,” Ming agrees, exasperated. “I just know how you think. I told you that as well.”

“Why are we here?” Zitao asks instead. He’s not really sure how to take Ming’s words anymore. He’s a hell of a confusing man, even for a dream one.

When Ming doesn’t answer, Zitao uses the chance to finally look around. There are intricate iron fences lining wide, sunny gardens - they seem even brighter with all the snow covering the ground. He can see a few children playing in one. It's such a stereotypical family neighbourhood it's a little funny. He can almost see the flowy, bright cursive of some dumb movie title splaying over the birches lining the sidewalk.

"Where are we going?" he asks again, trailing listlessly behind Ming.

Ming motions for him to follow, then starts down the street, snow crunching beneath his boots. “You’ll see very soon.”

When they reach the end of the street, Zitao does see it.  _ It, _ in the form of Baekhyun and two little girls making a snowman in the backyard of what Zitao assumes is their house. The girls are wrapped in scarfs so big their noses barely peek out but even from here, Zitao can tell their eyes are filled with excitement.

They stay a few paces away from the backyard, partly hidden by the trees hanging over the fence of Baekhyun’s neighbour.

He looks so happy, Zitao’s heart slams against his ribcage, frantic, painful. He wonders if he exists in this… whatever this is, too. If  _ his  _ Baekhyun will ever look this happy.

“You’re inside,” Ming says quietly. “He’s distracting the kids so you have enough time to wrap their presents and hide them in your bedroom.”

Baekhyun is currently trying to dodge a snowball by ducking behind the snowman. It goes as smoothly as you’d expect but his smile is like the sun itself. It takes Zitao quite a bit of willpower to tear his eyes from the sight. Ming is looking at the snowball war as well. “How do you know all this?”

Ming shrugs, eyes following one of the girls. She surrenders, runs into Baekhyun’s open arms giggling. 

“I’ve been here,” Ming finally replies. “Not right in this moment but I’ve been here. And besides,” he turns to Zitao and there’s that feeling again. He can’t see Ming’s face but somehow, he knows there’s a smile on it. “I know them just as much as I know you.”

Zitao turns back to Baekhyun and the children again. One of the little girls is looking in his direction - not at him, not exactly, but if she turns just so they’d be locking eyes. Baekhyun’s looking at the girl and follows her line of sight.

The next two seconds feel like an eternity.

Baekhyun isn’t looking at him but he will be, very soon. Deep down, Zitao knows this isn’t  _ his  _ Baekhyun. It’s a dream one, and a dream Baekhyun that belongs to someone else. This someone else may be a version of himself, sure, but this Zitao has a house and a happy family and more importantly, didn’t make the love of his life leave. 

Might as well be a different person entirely.

Baekhyun is almost looking at him now. It may not be his Baekhyun, yes, but it’s  _ Baekhyun  _ and Zitao hasn’t seen him, really seen him in weeks. He’s never wanted anything more in his life.

Ming steps right into his line of sight, blocking the entire yard out of his view.

Zitao goes on his tiptoes instinctively, looking over Ming’s shoulder except the kids are playing on the other side of the yard now, Baekhyun with them. The chance to finally see his beautiful, beautiful eyes after so long is gone, just like that.

It would be nice if Zitao could get angry. He could cause a scene, make Baekhyun look.

Instead, he just slumps back, pulls the collar of his jacket up. It does little to conceal the hollowness inside him.

Ming still hasn’t moved, head tilted slightly. He sighs, then fixes Zitao’s collar. “I know,” he says so quiet, Zitao barely hears him. “But it’s better this way.”

Zitao shrugs. “Sure.”

When Ming finally moves, sidestepping him to walk right back to where they came from, Zitao follows. It takes all his willpower not to turn around.

*

The portal they came through is, unsurprisingly, gone. Ming passes by the dark, dead-end street they came out of without a second glance.

They walk for quite some time and Zitao is this close to just asking that they stop for coffee somewherе, maybe. He’s pretty sure his nose is about to fall off. The jacket can only do so much. 

“We’ll pass by a coffee shop in few minutes. I’ll get you something warm, you drama queen,” Ming says a few paces ahead.

Zitao clamps his mouth shut, even if he knows it’s fruitless in the grand scheme of things. There is no explanation, nothing other than this dream person somehow reading his thoughts. 

They reach the coffee shop in question a few minutes later. It’s a pretty hole-in-the-wall place, something he can definitely see himself taking Baekhyun to. He wonders if the Zitao of this world does.

Ming motions towards a table close to the door. The way the café is furnished, it leaves the counter slightly out of view. “Enjoy the nice temperature while you can. We’re not staying.” And then Ming proceeds to the counter.

“But you don’t even know what I want!” Zitao calls after him.

Ming turns around and there’s the feeling again. “Sure I do.” He’s smiling under the mask. Zitao just  _ knows. _

He settles on the table Ming pointed him to because he’s not entirely sure what else to do. He watches Ming talk to what is probably the barista - he can’t really see the person from here. He wonders just what does the poor person has to go through each day if they don’t even bat an eyelash at Ming’s mask.

They get boring pretty fast, though. Zitao has a lot to think about anyway.

One thing, really. It just so happens that this one thing is his whole world.

The previous Baekhyun looked so happy - and this one, too. Maybe even more. Zitao wonders if his Baekhyun ever looked this happy. Deep down, he knows they were both this happy, once. Right now, it’s really hard to remember things past the disappointment, regret in Baekhyun’s eyes when he finally said goodbye.

A paper cup lands in front of him.

Ming is holding another one, both equally unlabeled. Zitao takes a suspicious sniff of his.

“You’ll like it,” Ming states, with all the confidence of someone who’s spent his life buying Zitao’s coffees - which he is not. Zitao knows this, because he rarely trusts anyone but himself with his coffee preferences.

It’s a cappuccino. Skimmed milk, hazelnut flavor, extra whipped cream. He hates to admit that he does, indeed, like it.

Ming seems to know, though, because there’s zero surprise in his body language. Even without the mask, the surprise just wouldn’t be there, Zitao thinks. Not even satisfaction for getting it right. It’s kind of infuriating, honestly.

“Come on,” Ming nods towards the door. “We can’t stay here.”

“But why,” Zitao says (not whines). “It’s warm. And outside… is not.”

He follows when Ming goes out the door, however. It’s one of those impossible to resist dream feelings - he just knows, in his gut, that following Ming is the right decision.

Ming sighs. “You don’t belong in this world. I don’t, either. The least contact you have with the people who inhabit it, the better.”

“But you just talked to that barista,” Zitao points out, cradling his cup. It’s pleasantly warm in his cold hands. It feels so much like a real one. “Don’t these rules apply to you too?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Ming shrugs.

Zitao waits for the end of that sentence. Turns out, there isn’t one.

Ming eventually leads them to a seemingly abandoned house. He opens the gate to the yard like he’s done it a thousand times, and slips through the narrow opening. It’s an old, rusty, iron gate. Even the little movement makes it squeak pathetically. 

Zitao follows Ming through the backyard, his shoes sinking into the thin layer of snow. 

This is it, he thinks. This is where his dream turns into a horror one.

Then, they reach a short stone fence; and then, the sea. 

“I didn’t know we’re this close,” Zitao breathes. It’s mesmerizing - the beach, covered by snow here and there. The water looks magical in the bright winter sun.

Ming shrugs again. He does that a lot, Zitao can’t help but notice. “You grew up here in this world,” he says, wiping some of the snow, then hopping over the fence to sit on it like it’s nothing. “Met Baekhyun in college, I think. Somewhere far from the sea. Baekhyun found it fascinating, probably. Then you got a house here.”

“How do you know all of this?” Zitao asks, sitting right in the snow, close to Ming. You can’t catch dream-colds, right?

“I told you,” Ming replies, staring out into the sea. “I’ve been here before. A lot of times. This is one of my favorite worlds to visit, I think. It’s like they spent their life in one of those cheesy, romantic movies where nothing bad really happens and everyone is just happy.”

“I know you said it’s not but… I thought this is like one of those The-Ghost-of-Christmas type of things,” Zitao trails off. “It’s really not, is it?”

Ming laughs and it’s airy, familiar. It niggles at the back of Zitao’s mind but he just can’t seem to place it yet. “It’s not even close to Christmas where you come from. And no, these are not your memories. These are just… other people. They’re all you and they’re all Baekhyun but they’re also themselves, you know?”

Zitao doesn’t. At least he doesn’t think he does. Ming sighs.

“Imagine,” he says, sticking his finger in the snow between them. It leaves a small dot. “This is you. And each time you make a decision, you choose a path.” He draws a line, pointing left. “Except, in another world, you chose the other path. And then another. Then you have to make a decision again and the process repeats, except sometimes the paths clash, even if the different you-s make different decisions.” The drawing ends up something like a flowchart, except maybe after a toddler has played with it. Zitao rubs at his eyes.

“So-”

“It’s not just about you,” Ming interrupts. Zitao clamps his mouth shut. “It’s about the Zitao that’s probably hiding presents in his bedroom right now, and also the one who’s walking Baekhyun home because it’s late even though they both have classes tomorrow. It’s about you, I guess, but it’s also about all of them. About Baekhyun. Hell, it’s about the lady with the tiny vicious dog that keeps nipping at your boots each time you see them in the lobby. It’s about everyone making decisions and it’s all connected and way too complicated for people like us.”

Zitao doesn’t point out that there is no lady with a vicious dog in his building. “But this time, right now, it’s about  _ him, _ isn’t it?”

Ming swipes the snow between them, and the drawing is gone. “I suppose it is.” He leaves his cup in the snow next to him, jumping off the fence. “Come on, there’s one more place I want to show you.”

He doesn’t wait for Zitao, he never does. Except, this time Zitao doesn’t hurry to follow. He picks up the abandoned cup and takes a cautious sip.

What’s in the cup is the exact same coffee Zitao himself just finished.

*

The next vortex they pass through isn’t any fancy shape this time - it’s just a plain rectangle. It leads to a hill, the bottom of which is lined with a stone fence. There are a few trees here and there, the wind rustling through their leaves, blowing them off the branches and on the damp autumn ground. At least there’s no snow here.

It’s not just a hill, Zitao realizes fairly quickly.

It’s a graveyard.

“It’s a shame,” Ming says, leading the way through the stone gates and up a weaving path between the gravestones. There’s something so casual in the way he walks, like he’s walked this exact path a thousand times. Like he can walk it with his eyes closed. “Autumn is beautiful,” Ming continues. “But I’ve always felt like he was more like spring. Breathing life back into the world and - flowers, I guess.” he laughs quietly. It sounds so intimate, Zitao suddenly feels like an intruder, even if it was Ming who led him here. “So many flowers. He said they make him feel more alive so I stuffed his room with so many of them the nurses had to put a net on the window because bugs kept flying in.” They reach a small patch of grass, a little further from the rest of the gravestones. There’s a willow tree covering it with its branches, some splayed over the lone gravestone there. It almost looks like the willow is trying to envelop the pale pink marble. Like a hug maybe. “Spring and flowers,” Ming says slowly. “That’s how he was to me.”

Zitao knows, somehow, deep inside. He knows the face under the mask and he’s not surprised, not really, when Ming turns around enough so Zitao can see the name carved into the marble. It hurts. It’s almost a physical pain, even though Zitao tries to remind himself he doesn’t know the man lying under those pansies. It’s  _ not him. _

And yet.

Ming sits at the edge of the grass, back towards Zitao, running his fingers along the edge of the gravestone like it’s alive, like it’s not just a piece of polished marble.

“How did it happen?” Zitao asks, even though he’s not entirely sure he wants to know.

Ming shrugs. “Does it matter?”

“I suppose not,” Zitao says, eyes glued to Ming because he can’t let himself look at the gravestone. He can’t. “I know who you are,” he says instead.

“I know,” Ming sighs. He carefully runs his fingers through the petals of a stray pansy, grown somewhat far from the others.

Zitao follows the movement. “Why did you never let any of the other versions of Baekhyun see me?”

Ming sighs again and gets up from the ground. He takes off one of his gloves and offers his hand to Zitao.

It’s almost transparent.

"It gets worse the more you realize. I couldn't risk this happening to you, too. I made my choice a long time ago and you still have a life back home. You still have him. I suppose there isn't need for this now," Ming says with a quiet chuckle. He uses his bare hand, the almost-transparent one, to finally, finally take his mask off.

It should've been unsettling, at least. And yet, all Zitao feels when he sees his own eyes staring back at him is... regret. He could've been this man. Hell, he  _ is  _ this man. Except his Baekhyun is alive and... not happy. Because of Zitao.

Ming smiles. Zitao briefly wonders if he should call him something else now. Ming is him, after all. Then again, he seems so far away from the person Zitao grew into.

"We're not allowed to meddle, you see," Ming starts, pulling his glove back on. "This is sort of a punishment, I think. Not messing with fate and all that. But I saw you waste yourself and I just couldn't..." He turns back to the stone, still cradled by the willow's branches. "Under all that attitude, he's always been more of a romantic than we could ever be. I think he'd enjoy this. I lost my happy ending long ago, helping you find yours seems like a fitting end."

"Were you always this dramatic?" Zitao laughs, even if he has to wipe at the tears stinging in his eyes.

Ming shrugs, grinning. "Indeed. You of all people should know."

There's a crackly sound somewhere behind and when Zitao turns, there’s another portal, floating right there in the chilly autumn air. It’s gray and blue and shaped like… a bottle?

"This will take you home," Ming says, motioning for Zitao to go. "I'd love to come see you suck at winning him back but I won't last very long. I'd rather fade out of existence here, with him." He bends to pluck the stray pansy off its stem, then offers it to Zitao. "You'll remember me, right?"

"You're me." Zitao points out. "Of course I'll remember you."

Ming laughs, louder this time. "That's true. I think I would've said the same in your place." Zitao raises his eyebrows and Ming laughs some more. "Point taken. Now go, you've kept him waiting long enough."

Zitao doesn't do something stupid like walking backwards into the portal, or maybe waving goodbye. It's not that kind of story.

So instead he walks into the portal with his head up and the pansy carefully cradled into his hands, hope slowly but surely filling up his heart.

*

Zitao wakes up to something cold being poured on his face.  _ Startles awake  _ is more accurate, probably.

Baekhyun’s eyes, wide and worried, are what greets him.

His first thought is  _ Baekhyun, _ but then the fear written on his face sinks in and the giddy relief is quickly drowned out by guilt.

“I’m so sorry,” Zitao says on instinct. For worrying you, maybe. Or deeper, for making you go. 

Baekhyun’s there one moment, frozen, and the next there are hands around Zitao’s neck and a new dampness soaking the collar of his shirt. “You absolute idiot,” Baekhyun sobs, “I thought you’re in a coma or something, I thought you’ve-” His voice breaks and Zitao finally gathers his wits enough to hug back.

“It’s okay, I’m okay,” he mutters, running his fingers through Baekhyun’s fluffy hair - except it’s not all that fluffy now. In fact, it seems like he hasn’t had a shower in a while.

He seems to notice because he stiffens, then pushes Zitao away. There’s an indignance in his eyes that wasn’t there two seconds ago. “Luhan called me. He told me what you’ve been doing. I’ve been worrying over you since I came. You were passed out  _ for over twenty-four hours, _ Huang Zitao. I think. It’s been at least twelve since I came here.”

Zitao halts at that. It feels like he was gone a lot longer. “I’m sorry?”

“Stop saying you’re sorry.” Baekhyun sniffs, crossing his hands. “I want to know why the fridge was plugged out. And empty.”

“I...” Zitao considers telling the truth. He’s not sure where he and Baekhyun stand, though. The last thing he wants right now is to guilt trip the love of his life. “I wasn’t home a lot, I didn’t see the point.”

Baekhyun narrows his eyes at him. “All your lights were off. I know you don’t like coming home in the dark.”

“It seemed wasteful,” Zitao shrugs. It’s not a lie.

Baekhyun sits back on his heels, rubbing at his eyes. When his hand drops, he just looks… tired. Zitao imagines he does, too. “I’m really glad you’re okay.”

Zitao has this whole casual reply planned out, something casual, maybe a little funny. What comes out instead is, “I miss you.”

“I know,” Baekhyun sighs. “I missed you lot when I lived here, too.” He stares at his hands, then looks up to meet Zitao’s eyes, determined. “I still do. But I’m really tired playing second fiddle in your life, you know?”

“You were always the first one, though.” Zitao argues softly. “I think I took it for granted that you knew.” He can see Baekhyun’s eyes scrunching up, like he’s in physical pain. “I’m not trying to make you feel bad, I swear,” he hurries to explain. “I think I’d leave myself too, if I were in your place. Maybe even sooner.”

That startles a laugh out of Baekhyun. It seems to surprise both of them. “Don’t talk like that. Although you have a point,” he adds a beat later.

“Of course I am,” Zitao allows himself to grin. Baekhyun is looking at him with something a lot like hope twinkling in his eyes. A while ago, Zitao would’ve placed the feeling without a doubt but now he’s not so sure. “I think,” he starts tentatively, “that I love you too much to let stupid things such as myself get in between us.” Baekhyun opens his mouth to protest but Zitao hurries to continue before he has the chance to. “I’m not asking you to pick up where we left off. That… wouldn’t work.”

Baekhyun looks at him curiously. He shuffles so he’s not sitting his heels anymore, instead just sits on the floor, knees bent in front of him. “Then what?”

“I want to… start over.” Zitao says. “Like, before we moved in together. I want to take you out on dates. Maybe,” he says, voice going lower. “Maybe if you decide to take me back, we can move into someplace else, this time. Somewhere warmer. The sea?”

“Your job,” Baekhyun says, a hint of doubt weaving its way through his words.

“Doesn’t matter,” Zitao shrugs. “I can always find another one, if it comes to it. Luhan can find a replacement.”

Baekhyun considers his words. “What if I decide not to take you back?”

Zitao shrugs again, even if it takes a lot more effort this time. “It’ll be hard, I’m not going to lie. But having you in my life as a friend is better than not having you at all. Maybe we weren’t destined to be in love this time,” it hurts but Zitao has seen  _ them. _ Things happen. Choices are made, different ones, and yet the end results are all somehow similar. “It doesn’t matter if we’re a couple, you’ll still be the closest person I’ll ever have.”

“Wait,” Baekhyun lifts a finger, shuffles in his seat. “What do you mean this time?”

“I-” Zitao halts. How do you explain that one without sounding like a lunatic? “I had a dream. I’ll tell you someday.”

And maybe he will. He’ll tell about all the things Ming showed him, about Ming himself. About himself.

Today, he just smiles at Baekhyun and resists the urge to hug him when he doesn’t push.

*

Baekhyun leaves not too long after. He says he needs to get home to change, to shower. Zitao doesn’t offer for him to stay. It’s not the time.

The pansy is sitting there, on the cushion he kicked off the couch at some point during his who-knows-how-long slumber. Zitao picks it up carefully. It seems a lot more fragile than it was when Ming plucked it. He gets up on wobbly legs, wanders to his library. There’s this book, some cheesy Christmas young adult story that Baekhyun loves. Frankly, Zitao thinks it’s a little shallow, bordering on annoying, but Baekhyun loves it and that was reason enough for him to go and buy it. No one reads it anymore because it’s really not that memorable - but the twinkle in Baekhyun’s eyes when Zitao had presented him with the paper bag from the bookstore is something he remembers vividly even now.

He opens it, then gently places the pansy inside. Good thing he’d gotten the hardcover.

Zitao has a feeling Ming would’ve loved this.

**Author's Note:**

> dear person who prompted this-- _thank you_ i never even thought about participating in the fest and then there was nell and. i guess what i'm trying to say is, thank you for appreciating nell and it was a pleasure to write with them in mind, and baektao on top of that! just. thank you <3 i hope you like the story as much as i liked writing it ♡♡
> 
> forever thank you to the mods as well, you made this entire fest a great experience for everyone and i'm so happy i was a part of it <3


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